


Cupcakes

by PeetaPan



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fingerfucking, First Time, Mentions of Sex Toys, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, Workplace Sex, i have lost control of my life, this is literally over 2k words of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:30:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeetaPan/pseuds/PeetaPan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(aka) The Story of How Felicity Smells Like a Baked Good and Why That Got Her Into Oliver Queen's Pants</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupcakes

Everything about Felicity Smoak was sexy.

Which was actually quite a problem for Oliver because the girl didn’t seem to be aware of her alluring aura. Sometimes, she would do something so ridiculous—so _Felicity—_ that Oliver thought she _had_ to know and had been playing him like a fiddle the whole time.

Exhibit A: for the last week, Felicity came in to work smelling like a cupcake. Oliver thought maybe only he noticed due to his ever constant heightened sexual awareness of all things Felicity, but no, Diggle commented on her unusual aroma, asking her why she smelled like the inside of a Cinnabon.

Felicity rambled about how her friend got her a Bath & Bodyworks gift card for her birthday, but she only just got around to using it.

“What? Is flowery perfume just too cliché?” Oliver smirked.

“No, I just enjoy smelling like I’m eatable—I mean edible—tasty—wait no,” she broke off in an embarrassed huff, cheeks flushing red. “I’m going to stop talking.” Oliver just stared, his mouth watering, suddenly struck by the image of Felicity’s spread thighs and his head buried between them—she probably tasted like a fucking cupcake too.

That was another Felicity trademark that got Oliver’s blood pumping—her infallible ability to fumble up words and end up saying something entirely inappropriate. Oliver thought she did it just to spite him.

Every time she made an accidental innuendo, Oliver was powerless to stop his imagination from running wild and flashing obscene images into his mind’s eye.

“You can take me whenever you want—wait, no not like that, I meant—“

And Oliver would see himself fucking her against a wall, her lithe legs wrapped tight around his waist.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky with me—I mean, crap, that sounded better in my head—“

And Oliver would see himself ripping off her panties with his teeth.

“We could do it if we get bored—not do it as in _do it_ —I mean—you know what I mean—“

And Oliver would see her whimpering under him as he fucked her with his tongue.

There was no way a human being could make that many sexual innuendos _accidentally._ She _had_ to be teasing him—deliberately.

But the thing was—every time Felicity tripped over her words and stuck her foot in her mouth, her face would turn cherry red, and she would bashfully avoid eye contact. Her embarrassment was definitely genuine… so perhaps the innuendos were too.

The only problem was that Oliver discovered that he found a blushing Felicity to be both ridiculously endearing and ridiculously desirable.

He wasn’t blind. He saw her checking him out whenever he would train in the club’s basement. She turned a deep red whenever he caught her staring. But she blushed _even more_ prettily when he worked out shirtless. Oliver found himself purposely shedding his shirt to do the simplest routines—sit ups, jumping jacks, push-ups—completely desperate to tinge Felicity’s cheeks with pink.

He also discovered that the closer in proximity he stood to her, the more flustered she’d get. He liked it when she was flustered—it was adorable and desirable and lovable and _sexy._ Oliver never thought he would find someone’s awkwardness sexy. But Felicity was an outlier, he supposed.

And then, one day, Felicity did something _so Felicity_ that Oliver almost snapped.

It was Christmas season, and that meant the lair was particularly chilled by winter air. Oliver encountered Diggle on the stairs just as Diggle was leaving, clutching a gift bag, and chuckling to himself.

“What is it?” Oliver asked, suspicious. Diggle just grinned.

“Just you wait, you’ll probably get one too,” he replied, shaking his head, and leaving Oliver to wonder on the stairs.

When Oliver got down in the basement, his confusion increased tenfold.

Felicity’s entire work station was covered in knitted knick-knacks. Piled with a rather expansive blanket, a haphazard stack of woolen scarves, an impressive collection of fuzzy hats, and a small mountain of mittens, Felicity’s desk looked like it was an adorned tea cozy. Even her computer screens were obscured by colorful patterns.

“Felicity?” Oliver was worried she might have suffocated in a puddle of yarn.

But she swiveled around to face him in her chair and smiled brightly, her fingers deftly click-clacking needles together to make what looked like a sweater for a small child.

“Hello, Oliver,” she replied.

“I leave for a week and come back to—what, _Attack of the Yarn_?” he teased, picking up a random knitted accessory to inspect.

“I like to knit in the winter,” Felicity defended. She was currently wearing the most garish, knitted, ugly Christmas (or rather, Hanukkah) sweater he had ever seen. And it looked ravishing on her.

“Actually,” she continued, putting down her needles, “I have something for you.”

She pulled out a festive paper bag with a ribbon on top.

“Happy Holidays,” she smiled, holding out the gift.

Oliver took it, warily pulling open the bag and rifling through the tissue paper to reveal a pair of dark green socks, with white little arrows knitted into the pattern. Felicity watched Oliver’s face eagerly for a reaction.

Oliver grinned broadly.

“I love it,” he declared, bending immediately to pull off his shoes and don the newly acquired festive socks. Felicity clapped happily, before gasping as she remembered something.

“I almost forgot!” she exclaimed. “I only just finished it, but I have another present for you. It’s not wrapped, so you have to close your eyes for me—I mean, not for _me_ —“

Oliver just smirked, his eyelids obediently fluttering shut as she rambled. He heard her shuffling around, and after a moment she said,

“Alright, open.”

Oliver’s jaw dropped.

Felicity held up a beautiful, dark green hood—just like Oliver’s vigilante outfit, only this one was completely knitted from yarn. It was incredible. Oliver just stood dumbstruck… which, of course, prompted Felicity to start rambling nervously.

“I hope it fits; I didn’t want to take measurements because then it would’ve ruined the surprise, so I tried to figure it out just by looking at your body—I mean—I, I had to adjust the usual pattern because your chest is so broad—I didn’t mean—uh, I just meant that—“

But she was cut off as Oliver wrapped her in a tight hug, one hand threading through her soft blonde hair and the other spreading across the small of her back. Felicity fell silent, before tentatively returning the embrace, her arms winding around his waist.

Oliver could feel his resolve cracking. She was warm and alive under his hands; her breath tickled his neck, and _fuck_ her hair smelled like fresh-baked cupcakes. Oliver fought to regain composure as he forced himself to pull away from Felicity’s welcoming touch.

“Thank you,” he murmured sincerely.

Felicity smiled, and she looked so damn adorable in her glasses and her ugly sweater, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and Oliver just wanted to _devour_ all of her.

Felicity sat back down in her swivel chair, picking up her needles and knitting as she twirled slowly in circles.

Oliver nearly physically stumbled back because each whirl sent Felicity’s hair tossing, and waves of her stupid cupcake perfume slammed into Oliver, curling heat in his gut and making his mouth water. Felicity started humming, completely unaware of the effect she had on him.

Finally, Oliver snapped.

On the next twirl, Oliver grabbed the arms of Felicity’s chair, bringing her to a sudden halt. She looked up at him, all confusion and innocence in those damn doe eyes, and Oliver couldn’t help but lean forward, enjoying the sudden flush across Felicity’s cheeks as he invaded her space. He breathed deeply, savoring the scent of her skin.

“You have no idea…” Oliver breathed, hungrily drinking in Felicity’s reaction to his presence.

“About what?” she managed to squeak, her breathing labored.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Oliver admitted, his voice strained.

He searched her eyes for any sign of deception, but she was perfectly befuddled, and the damn _sincerity_ of the enigma that was Felicity Smoak nearly broke Oliver’s heart. She wasn’t doing anything to play him; he was just _that_ attracted to her natural self.

And it just _broke_ Oliver, because she was oblivious to how perfect and beautiful and sexy she was, and Oliver was slammed with the sudden urge to worship Felicity, to show her how beauty burst from her eyes and shone from her skin.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands sliding to cup either of her knees, and he locked eyes with her, gaze never wavering because he wanted to be positive that this was what she wanted. She was staring at him, pupils blown wide with lust, her mouth parted slightly and her breathing shallow.

She gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Oliver watched her heatedly, and he slowly spread her legs apart.

Her thighs trembled beneath his fingers as he slid them up under her skirt, toying with the waistband of her panties. He wanted to touch—to kiss—every inch of her skin, and he knelt, lips pressing to her knee.

His fingers slid back down to grasp her calves, massaging lightly. He heard her gasp at the sensation, and he grinned, dragging his lips up her thigh. Her legs were slightly prickly to touch, and it sent another jolt of lust down his spine, knowing that she hadn’t been expecting this—that she was human.

He lavished open-mouthed kisses on her skin, his heated breath eliciting goose bumps and a breathy moan. He paused as he neared her throbbing sex—fuck, he could smell her arousal through her panties.

But the angle was wrong, so he slid a hand behind her back and pulled her forward, until her ass hung off the edge of her seat. She yelped in surprise at the sudden change, now completely dependent on Oliver for balance, her legs spread obscenely wide so he had the most _wonderful_ view of her slicked cunt.

Oliver was half tempted to bury his face between her legs and never surface, but no—Felicity deserved more than this—she deserved to have every inch of her body worshipped, so Oliver settled for scattering kisses on her thighs and belly with a nip of his teeth every once in a while.

He avoided anything covered in the fabric of her panties— _holy fuck_ , Oliver thought as he gazed between her thighs—he could see her slick juices soaking through the thin cotton. She was practically _gushing_ for him.

Oliver couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He had to know how she tasted.

He couldn’t even wait to take off her panties; he just started licking her through the fabric.

A startled moan shattered his reverie, and Oliver’s gaze flicked up to see Felicity clutching the arms of her chair, knuckles white and straining—she was watching him, flushed and debauched, her eyes shimmering with _hunger_ as he mouthed at her cunt.

Oliver grinned, pulling her panties down with his teeth to reveal a triangle of soft dark curls, which Oliver found odd until he remembered that she once said she bleached her hair, which made him smile—he exhaled softly, breath tickling her throbbing sex, and Felicity moaned and squirmed impatiently under his hands as he held her down.

And then Oliver hooked her legs over his shoulders, and Felicity slumped down in surprise before letting out a shocked mewl as he _finally_ thrust his tongue between her lower lips.

She tasted just as good as he’d dreamed—she didn’t taste like cupcakes, he noted. But this was so much better—her juices were heady and sweet, but there was an underlying musk that made his mouth water— she didn’t taste like a baked good. She tasted like Felicity.

He drank her in like she was the first glass of water he’d had in five years. His tongue circled her little nub and Felicity let out a choked sob, and suddenly, her fingers were scrabbling through his hair, making Oliver grin against her cunt.

When he glanced up at her, shock was written across her face. Oliver was struck with the sudden thought that maybe Felicity had never been stimulated by her clitoris. He pulled back, lips sticky with her juices as he regarded her fondly.

“Has no one ever touched your clit?” he asked in amusement. She shook her head, too breathless to speak.

“Not like that,” she managed to stutter. He smiled up at her, his cheeks sticky with her arousal.

“Well, you’ve had some crappy lovers,” he murmured against her cunt, and her hips wantonly thrust against his mouth. She whimpered, fingers scrabbling through his hair, her thighs trembling on his shoulders.

“I—I n-never—“ she shuddered, the fire in her belly almost too much to bear. Oliver regarded her curiously. No… she couldn’t be— _could she?_

“Are you a virgin?” he asked, incredulous.

Her embarrassed blush answered his question.

“How can someone as _delicious_ as you be a virgin?” he wondered, honestly dumbstruck. Felicity just blushed harder.

“I’m not completely clueless,” she huffed defensively. “I-I’ve… touched myself.”

A bolt of lust shot down Oliver’s spine and curled in his belly—the thought of Felicity, sprawled naked in her bed, hand between her thighs, desperate for release, panting and sweating on her sheets—fuck, he just got harder if that was even possible considering every breathy noise she made went directly to his cock.

“Tell me,” he commanded.

She flushed at his words, realizing after a moment that he would not continue until she spoke.

“I’d start off by putting on some mood music—I mean, I _am_ a girl so yeah—“ she mumbled, her eyes locked with his. “Um, and then I guess I start, um, touching myself, like not _down there_ —but everywhere else…”

“Where?” Oliver drank in every word hungrily.

“I… I touch my breasts, and um, I play with my—my nipples, which by the way the right one is way more sensitive than the left one, I don’t know if that’s weird or not, a variance in nipple sensitization…”

“And?”

“And—and then I touch my stomach—“

But she stopped with a whimper as Oliver nosed at her clit, licking at her slick juices.

“Keep going,” Oliver murmured, buried between her lower lips.

“Okay—um—I touch my thighs and— _hngg.”_

Felicity faltered because Oliver’s hand had found its way under her ugly sweater and up to her chest to knead at her breast through her bra. He tweaked at the pebbled nipple, grinning when she yelped and whimpered in response.

Oliver’s other hand came up to assist his tongue with blowing Felicity’s fucking mind, as he carefully slid one finger into her tight, wet heat. Felicity gasped and bucked, trying to force Oliver deeper, but he held her down, waiting until she continued.

“Sometimes, my fingers aren’t enough, so I um, use a— _ah_ —toy,” she panted, her fingers involuntarily tightening in Oliver’s hair.

Oliver faltered at that—the image of sweet, little Felicity, using a sex toy to get herself off—he practically _growled,_ licking viciously at her clit.

“What kind?” he purred.

“Depends.”

The heat in Oliver’s gut curled tighter.

“Sometimes, a vibrator. And other times…” she trailed off.

“Mhmm?” he glanced up at her, waiting.

“I um, I—I fuck myself on a dildo,” she stammered, cheeks flushing bright red.

Oliver had to press the heel of his hand against his dick to keep from coming.

Unbidden images came to his mind—Felicity riding a shiny, plastic dick, fucking herself down on it, her small perfect breasts bouncing as she worked herself closer and closer to ecstasy.

Oliver’s eyes flashed, and Felicity let out a cry of pleasure because suddenly three fingers were filling her up—stretching her wide for Oliver to see, and she was so full and Oliver’s fingers were so much better than any toy because he was warm and rough and hungry for her.

“And—and I think of all sorts of things,” Felicity rambled, limbs shaking as Oliver slowly fucked her on his fingers. “You know, to get me, um, aroused.”

“Tell me,” he growled, his thrusts going deeper and harder.

“I—I imagine you,” she gasped, arching as Oliver found that place inside her,  sending sparks shooting to her fingertips. “You— _ah—_ tie me to your— _hngg—_ headboard and, um, hold me up and— _AHH_ —“

“What do I do?” Oliver demands, thrusting into her mercilessly with his fingers.

“ _Fuck me.”_

And suddenly, Oliver needed to bury his cock in her fucking _yesterday_ , and he disentangled from her legs before grabbing her hips and _lifting her_ into the air, their chests pressed flush together, as she wrapped her legs around his waist—thighs clenching—her feet digging into his ass.

Oliver flipped them over, so now he’s the one sitting in the chair, Felicity straddling his waist, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, and perfect.

He lunged forward, capturing Felicity’s lips in a hot, dirty kiss, and her mouth opened under his, and their tongues touched and he _knew_ she could taste herself on his lips, but that only seemed to make her hungrier for him.

He could feel dainty but deft fingers pulling at his belt, yanking his pants down, and suddenly there was a hand on his cock and Oliver gasped harshly into Felicity’s mouth because her fingers were tugging at him, lining him up—

And then she sank down, trembling as she took him inch by inch, a beautiful look of concentration etched across her face, and their eyes locked, and Oliver felt something bubbling in his chest because she’s so fucking beautiful, and with a swoop of surprise, he realized that he loves her.

Oliver Queen was in bloody fucking love with Felicity Smoak.

He had half a mind to tell her just that, when she shifted and took him deeper, and holy shit, he couldn't keep his hips from snapping up into her warm, tight cunt.

She was shaking, sweaty, and beautifully wrung out.

Fucking on a chair wasn't the smartest thing in the world, Oliver started to realize, because he kept Felicity on edge for too long, and now she was as taut as a bow string, arms wrapped around his head, her fingers clutching painfully at his hair, while trying to fuck herself down onto him. But Oliver couldn't hold her up like this.

She gave an adorable squeak as he stood, his hands digging into her ass, and he pushed her up against the nearest wall—finally able to fuck into her like he wanted to.

His hips snapped up in a relentless rhythm, drawing out punctuated cries from Felicity’s lips. He filled her up, her inner muscles trying to take him deeper, as he fucked her into the concrete wall. Felicity was just trying to hang on—she could feel her orgasm building in her belly, the heat almost too much for her to handle—desperate for release, needing it more than anything—

And then Oliver’s thumb found her clit, their eyes locked, and she came, clenching hard on his cock, her inner muscles milking him, forcing him deeper inside—Felicity’s limbs locked up as she let out a wordless cry, every neuron in her body overstimulated, and Oliver was kissing her—fucking her through it—and she turned boneless in his arms, completely spent and blissed out, supported only by Oliver’s strong hands cupping her ass.

The clench of Felicity’s cunt sent Oliver spiraling over the edge, and he came with her name on his lips and his heart in her hand, emptying himself into her wet heat, filling her up and marking her.

Through his post-orgasmic bliss, Oliver vaguely noticed that the air smells like sweat, sex, and cupcakes.

As he pulled Felicity in for a gentle kiss, Oliver smiled, because Felicity was Felicity—and Felicity was his.

 

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd, so yeah I know it changes from past to present tense halfway through, but i'm too lazy to fix it wHOOPS WHAT IS CONSISTENCY


End file.
